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school-mandated poetry: day 10 / acer rubrum

published: 8-18-2019

 

you and I used to make our beds in the leaves
of the autumn; red and orange and yellow
foxes and wolves prancing in the forest
until the moon hung over low

you and I grew older
and the winds changed
and the rules shifted
and then these skins were the only ones we'd ever worn

spending my formative years trembling in the shadow of an angry god
spending my formative years trembling in the shadow of a tree
this grove of trees where we grew and bled and ran to the horizon
always running
always running out of time

Acer rubrum, burning bright
can you tell me which path is right?

a seedling blowing in the breeze
severed along with the trunks of these trees
as we called the god-men to tear them down

red maples can grow anywhere
swamps, dry soils, anywhere in between
seeds scattering to the wind
and like those seeds, so shall I